In Sickness and
by Person4
Summary: They had all thought that Olive was past the terrible fevers of her childhood, until she fell ill again just before her eighteenth birthday. ::Princess Maker 2::


Olive was sick.

They had all thought that she was past the terrifyingly blazing fevers which had plagued her in her childhood, that kept her trapped in bed for a full month, sweating and whimpering and too weak to even walk to the next room without someone's help. It had been years since the last one, the careful schedule her father had followed while raising her letting her cast aside the sickly body she'd come to them in and grow to have the constitution of an ox and a strength that no one in three kingdoms could match. None of them would have guessed that just a few months before she reached adulthood that familiar redness would return to her cheeks once more.

Her father had stayed by her side for the first two thirds of the month, a sure sign of how much better off they were now than they had been when she was young. Back then it had always been Cube's job to stay by her side through the long weeks of her recovery, his master always guilt-stricken that they were too poor for him to give up a month's pay to stay with her. Cube was surprised and ashamed to find himself a little jealous of his master for being the one to take that place, and he couldn't help being glad when Olive declared one night that she was getting better and would be fine with just Cube to watch over her for the last week and a half of the month. And so the next morning, after putting off leaving as long as he possibly could in the hopes that Olive would wake up in time wish him a good day, his master had left.

Cube didn't hover by her bedside constantly the way he had when she was ten. He didn't make up a bed for her on the couch and carry her downstairs so he could watch her the entire time he worked as he had when she was twelve, or even peek into her room every half-hour to make sure she hadn't taken a turn for the worse like he had the very last time she'd taken ill just before she turned fourteen. He just made sure to crack her bedroom door and kept one ear open for sounds of her awakening as he went about his work.

She was _strong_ now, and he knew it. Had faith in it in a way that his master, away so often during each month that he never got much of a chance to see how much she'd flourished outside of the yearly festivals, couldn't. No fever would be able to overwhelm that strength. It was obvious even at her weakest, when he'd brought Olive her medicine and she'd smiled with her eyes blazing like they did whenever she'd found an opponent she thought would be really _fun_ to beat.

It was almost afternoon when he finally heard her starting to stir; he'd begun to suspect that she was taking advantage of her illness to sleep in as late as possible, now that she didn't have work, school, adventuring, or even just the endless fights in the streets to worry about. In just minutes he was tapping lightly on her door, then carrying in her breakfast and medicine without waiting for an answer. "Good morning, Mistress," he said cheerfully. "I hope you don't mind fruit salad and yogurt for breakfast; the milk man brought the yogurt as a gift especially for you this morning, since he'd heard you were ill."

"That was kind of him," she said with a small smile, struggling slightly against the weakness in her arms as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Cube wished that her could wrap an arm around her shoulders to help her, but he knew that by this point in her recovery Olive would feel shamed if she needed help in even this small use of her body so he settled for just propping a pillow up behind her before she leaned back. Once she was settled, and had obediently swallowed two spoonfuls of medicine, she asked, "Is Papa gone?"

"Yes. He went to work this morning, as you told him to Mistress," he replied, wondering if she might have changed her mind now that he actually wasn't there for her.

But instead of disappointment, she smiled again, wider this time. "Good," she said. "It was strange having him here."

"Strange, Mistress?" It was true that his master wasn't often around, but he'd never known his presence to bother his mistress before. If anything, she'd always been overjoyed on the days he wasn't gone until nightfall and they could spend extra time together.

"Don't get me wrong! I love Papa!" she quickly reassured him. "But I missed having you be the one taking care of me."

Cube flushed at the confession, pleased even through his surprise that she'd felt the same way he had. But all he said was, "You know that I'm always here for you, Mistress, even when your father is as well," and then he quickly left her to her breakfast before she could notice his blush.

He'd regained his composure by the time she called out to let him know that she was done, and he returned to her room to collect her tray and bring her a mug of tea. "Mistress, may I ask you a question?" he asked as he brought a book for her from her bookshelf so she'd have something to keep her occupied while he was taking care of the housework.

"Of course you can, Cube."

"I should have asked this earlier, but since you never brought it up yourself I thought that perhaps you wouldn't want to share the answer with your father for some reason." He perched on the edge of her bed, nervous that he might be taking too many liberties for a servant but hoping that the closeness might help her feel like she could open up to him. "Is something worrying you, Mistress? I can remember that when you were younger these fevers only struck you in times of high stress, and... I know it may not be my place to ask, but I would do anything I could to help you with any troubles you might be having."

She stared at him with the same wide-eyed, guilty look she'd used to have when he caught her sneaking sweets from the pantry, and Cube suddenly became very worried about what she might have gotten herself into. Luckily, the first thing she said about it was reassuring. "It's not... much, Cube. Really. I'm just... almost eighteen, and I've been thinking about the future," she said slowly and hesitantly.

Her face was looking redder, and he pressed his palm against her forehead to see if her temperature had risen again even as he tried to smile down at her reassuringly. "There's no need to be worried if you're not sure what you want to do with your life, Mistress. Of course it's more difficult for you to choose than a normal girl of your age, when you have so many skills to pick from. But you don't need to decide right away; your father and I will be happy to have you stay here a little longer."

When she answered him again, her hesitance had moved to outright stammering, and she couldn't even get her entire statement out; "I-it's not work, it's... it's _marriage_, and I don't know if the person I want even..." Cube had never been sick in his life, one happy perk of being a demon, but he was sure that the sudden feeling in his stomach must be what it was like to need to throw up at the sudden realization that, yes, she was at the age where she might begin considering marriage to some strange boy who couldn't possibly be worthy of her. He tried to pull his hand away from her head, suddenly wanting to put distance between them more than to check up on her health, but she covered it with her own before he could move and held him there with more strength than he'd have thought one human hand could contain. "Please don't move," she said quietly, her eyes holding his, "your hand feels so nice. It's cool."

Cube swallowed hard, breathed deeply, and tried to collect himself enough to answer her calmly. "Mistress, please believe that I'm saying this not just as your father's butler, but as your _friend_; I cannot imagine that there is a man in the world who would not feel ecstatic and impossibly lucky, if only you were brave enough to let him know he's won your heart."

"But it's not that simple. I've loved him for so long, but he's never seemed to notice at all, and..." Olive's eyes darted away from his, her face flushing redder than ever, but then she squared her jaw and dragged her eyes back with an expression that he recognized from just before any number of difficult fights. "...and he works for father, so I'm afraid that even if he did know how I feel he might feel bound by duty to ignore it."

Suddenly, foolishly, Cube felt like he was about to cry as he realized who the only person she could mean would be. She was still looking at him so bravely after the confession he hadn't even realized he was coaxing out of her, though she seemed more and more uncertain with every moment that passed without his responding to her. "Mistress," he finally tried to begin, but his voice cracked like a boy's before he could get any further and it didn't seem like the right way to start anyway. He swallowed again, and had to reach for the tea he'd brought her to wet his throat before he tried again. Slowly his hand slid from her head to her cheek, her own hand moving with it as if she were still afraid that he'd pull away if she let go. "Olive, as I said, _any_ man would feel ecstatic and impossibly lucky to know that you care for him. If you've thought he was turning a blind eye to your feelings, it can only be because he was a fool who'd never dared to even dream that you might fall in love with a humble servant."

It was clear a moment later that he hadn't been the only one holding back tears, because as soon as he finished speaking hers were flowing over, so many and so freely that it was amazing she'd been able to hide any hint of them until then. Or maybe he'd just mistaken them for the fever brightness that had been in her eyes for weeks. "And if I told him that I'd like to be married to him as soon as possible, what do you think his response would be?" she asked, with a tremor in her voice but a smile on her face that was so wide that he'd think her cheeks must ache from it if he couldn't feel an equally broad one stretching across his own lips.

Cube knew that it would be so easy to get carried away then, by the rush and potential of hopes and dreams that they'd just realized they might actually achieve, but he forced himself to keep his head. "I would say wait, just a few months more," he said, though it was difficult to force the words to leave his mouth. He leaned down to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead, knowing full well that even that much would seem terribly improper if anyone happened to walk in and see him leaning over her in her bed. "Remain my sweet mistress, and let me stay just your father's faithful butler until you're of age, and then we'll speak to your father. No one will be able to fault our conduct then." It didn't matter so much for him, of course; already an outcast to his own people, the disdain of humanity wouldn't be much of an added burden as long as he didn't lose his master's friendship forever. But Olive's future shone so brightly that he couldn't stand the thought of it being tarnished because of him. Unable to resist just one more touch at the idea, for his own comfort as much as anything else, he turned his hand under hers to clasp it and raise it so he could place a gentle kiss on her palm.

And she still refused to let go of his hand once he was done, now holding it so tightly that he suspected bones in it would be breaking if he had been born human. "Okay," she said, "if you think that's the right thing to do. I've waited so long already, a few months is nothing in comparison. Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything you wish, Olive."

"Stay with me, please, until my fever's gone. The way you used to."

He lowered their hands to the bed by her side, their fingers linked, and smiled gently down at her. "Of course, Mistress. I'll stay by your side for as long as you wish me to be there."


End file.
